


Movement

by kuchi



Series: Heartlines [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Bloodbending, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, M/M, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-02-29 18:17:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18783577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuchi/pseuds/kuchi
Summary: He should hate how much he doesn’t mind the fact that she has him practically paralysed now. He should probably hate the way Aang watches them calmly. Like he’s taking it for granted, like it doesn’t even faze him that Zuko might allow such a transgression.More bloodbending "practice."





	Movement

**Author's Note:**

> damn can't believe we needed 41k of build up to get here (just kidding). But this is definitely intended as a little after-the-end snippet of Heartlines. Thanks to @jaystrifes and @greenbucket for editing on short notice. Enjoy :~)

Even though Zuko's gotten more than used to Aang and Katara rushing around the palace over the years, it's still odd to see them here in his private bedchambers. There's something incongruous, a little heart-stopping about it. Even sleeping next to either of them invokes a sense of wonder that Zuko hasn't been able to shake yet.

And that's only a part of it. It's difficult to comprehend how dreamlike the last few weeks have been, ever since the night before he flew out of Daoshu. It's something beyond his most fanciful wishes falling into place. He doesn't have to pretend the two most important people that ever walked into his life (though he supposes it should be the other way around) are anything but that.

Katara sits on the bed with his head in her lap, her fingers absently coursing through his hair as she skims a small pile of letters. Aang, likewise, is sitting in a completely different corner of the enormous bed, close to the torches on the walls so he can pore over his own pile. Both quiet for once. They're supposed to be mid-honeymoon right now, yet neither seem to be able to neglect at least keeping up with the ongoings of the outside world, even if they're off duty. He doesn't blame them. Things are changing faster than anyone would have predicted. Not just the nations, but their technologies, cultures, beliefs.

The outside world - something Zuko, of all people, has blissfully forgotten in the minutes spent leaning against Katara's lap. He had a long line of meetings today. He takes the opportunity to just relax, close to the two people he never expected to be sharing this time with.

Zuko looks up at Katara, watching her eyes flit quickly over line after line. He extracts the hand resting in his hair, taking it carefully by the wrist and pressing it to his mouth. His breath hitches. It's too early to shake the feeling that he isn't supposed to be doing this. Katara's skin is smooth under his lips, fragrant with the sea smell that never leaves her, her wrist wiry and delicate. He breathes it in, dragging her hand down until he can kiss right up to the crease of her elbow.

Katara twitches. No doubt that tickles. "Stop it, you're not that smooth," she says lightly.

"I wasn't trying to be smooth," Zuko says. When she puts the letter down and smiles at him, it's an invitation. Zuko tries not to feel out of his element when he cups her face, pulling her down to kiss it. He gets her chin and then her cheek from the odd angle, but it only makes her giggle so he counts that as a win. Katara clasps his face in her hands properly and kisses him, the boldness of her movement sending sparks through his head. She rounds her shoulders, leaning down into him until the curtain of her hair tickles Zuko's face, falls into the hollows of his neck. Her hands slip away towards his naked chest, caressing softly. Zuko kisses her harder at the touch, feeling clumsy the instant he does. He wants to reciprocate that, this tenderness he hardly deserves.

Katara pulls away slightly, drawing her hands over the expanse of his shoulders. The hitch in her breath makes him warm to his core. Her eyes wander, taking him in and Zuko finds himself straightening his shoulders automatically to receive her gaze.

An idea worms its way into his thoughts as he follows the movement of her hands, circling his upper arms. He takes a tentative glance at her face. She lingers there, fingers tracing lightly on his biceps. She looks gripped in thought, a glint in her eyes.

Zuko takes a breath. Should he… ask? Would that be too strange? Would he be able to keep his voice nonchalant, experimental?

Probably not.

But Katara is ahead of him. He can hear her swallow, almost hear her compose the question before it leaves her lips. "Do you want to try something?" she says, her voice low.

Zuko's body tightens, on edge under her hands. He berates himself silently. She hasn't said  _anything_  yet. "What?"

A flash of hesitation passes her expression, and Zuko feels disingenuous for asking. He already knows what.

"I can… um, I can use bloodbending to do that," she says, staring down at her own hands, her voice barely above a whisper. "It might be interesting."

Zuko meets her gaze. "I was thinking the same." The anticipation seizes him, shamefully quick.

Katara's mouth parts in surprise, but she doesn't let on much more than that. Her eyes dart aimlessly for a moment before she clears her throat. "Make sure you're… just make sure you tell me what you're feeling," she says.

Zuko nods and swallows, already shuddering inside at the thought. Back in Daoshu, when she had used bloodbending on him, it had been a shock to his senses. Not the bending, necessarily - that was strange but gradual, slow; a bizarre creep of sensation that should have been repulsive if not for the circumstance. It was Katara's attention on him that left him struck. A raw, targeted focus, yet without even a trace of malice. He wasn't fully sure those two things could have coexisted, before that.

It haunted him for days.

Katara hovers one hand over his arm. Like last time, Zuko can't help the rough breath that pushes out of him when she begins. It builds like a throb, a spreading ache, but an elusive one, disappearing when he tries to pinpoint the sensation. The only real indication of how helpless he is occurs when he tries to lift his arm. There's  _nothing_. Not a single nerve responds. He can feel the mattress underneath, but beyond that, it's like looking at someone else's arm.

Katara exhales. Just as stealthily as it had gone, the feeling seeps back into his arm. He closes and opens his fist.

"Does that feel okay?" Katara says. Zuko feels himself nod; her voice swims in his ears, far away. This was smoother than last time. Less hesitation, the invasion swifter. She's gaining ground already.

Katara continues, her body stiff as a statue where he rests against it. The sensation creeps into his shoulder, a faint tingle trickling along his clavicles, skirting down towards his rib cage. He swallows, his mind racing along with the sensation. When he looks up, Katara's face is focused, her elbow poking out in concentration. Her hands look slender as they draw slowly, inches above his skin.

She pauses. Inch by inch, she drops one hand, retracting it and returning it to his hair. Her breath comes in puffs, but Zuko doesn't feel a single change when he tries to shift, the weight of his own body holding him still in place.

She's bending his blood, the expanse of his chest, with one hand.

Zuko's heart spikes at the triumph in Katara's eyes when she glances briefly at his face. His head is swimming. He knows how she feels under his hands, the dip of her waist, her bony shoulders; his face still heating up at the thought of the places where she has let him touch her.  _This_ visceral power lay dormant in her, all this time, possible with the lift of a finger. Really just a finger, in Katara's case, her waterbending defter than anyone's.

She's in his chest. With a single decision right now, she could do anything. She could extinguish his life.

The sensation ebbs and flows like a caress: it's all she wants to do to him. He watches her face, transfixed, the pleasure and danger buzzing in his head, pulling him deeper into a delirious kind of state. He can feel when his body slackens, and when she draws it tight, with no say in either sensation. Every inch of him is alert, none more than his beating heart. He wonders if she can feel that, and how strongly.

"What are you- oh."

The voice jolts him back to Earth. He hadn't noticed Aang move across the bed, sitting next to him. Zuko looks from Aang to Katara's hands, not trusting himself to speak right now. Katara, however, hasn't relinquished her position one bit, a realisation that makes him shiver.

Aang's eyes widen, watching them with tentative curiosity.

"Further?" Katara says. Zuko's attention is instantly drawn back to her. Her pupils are dark, and she sounds parched.

"Yeah," Zuko says, looking at Aang, a fevered part of him daring him to say something, to object. Aang only watches. He looks strange in dim firelight, his expression uncharacteristically blank. Zuko tries to put it out of his mind.

He attempts to move his torso again, experimentally. He had expected, back in the Earth Kingdom, that it would feel like a struggle, a force he had to retaliate against if he wanted control of his body. But there's nothing to fight. He can't retaliate against something that's a part of him.

"Is it still okay?" Katara breathes, her question for Zuko but her eyes shifting to Aang. There's a barely perceptible nod somewhere in the corner of Zuko's eye. It pulls him deeper.

Zuko nods too, despite the burn crawling up his neck and down into his groin. This is - this is getting  _weird._ He should hate how much he doesn't mind the fact that she has him practically paralyzed now. He should probably hate the way Aang watches them calmly. Like he's taking it for granted, like it doesn't even faze him that Zuko might allow such a transgression.

Aang puts his hand over Zuko's. The touch is conspicuous in his brain, magnified by the simple fact that he can't touch Aang back. He shifts again, only the lower half of his torso accepting his own demands for movement.

Katara must sense his unease. "Do you want me to let your arms go?" she says, barely above a whisper, demonstrating with a simple swerve of her thumb. A cooling sensation crawls up Zuko's fingers as the feeling rushes back into them. He feels fresh sweat, turning his palm and pressing it to Aang's, but he doesn't know whose it is. Aang is staring at Katara, eyes widened in astonishment. Zuko understands. She hadn't let on how precise she could be, last time.

All in one breath, he says, "You don't have to."

Katara hovers at the edge of the scar that touches his sternum, the sensation seeping lower towards his navel. Zuko's breathing harshens. Everything is heightened here, and his muscles can't fight the loss of movement even when they automatically try to; circling back, pushing against nothing.

Katara, coursing in his veins, is the only person who can control it.

Aang's eyes are back on him. He shifts forward now, eyes raking down Zuko's whole body. It feels vulgar compared to how lightly Aang usually regards his surroundings. Zuko feels naked; defensive.

"What are you looking at?" he says, biting his tongue in frustration when it comes out more as a whisper than a playful snarl.

Aang seems to snap out of a haze, looking up at Zuko with a small smile. He's shifting gears visibly. "You, Your Hotness." He looks pointedly at the bulge in Zuko's trousers. "I can tell that you like this."

Zuko struggles to glare, even more so from the silent laughter he can feel in Katara's stomach, pressed against him. "I can too," she says breathlessly. "I can- I can  _feel_ it."

Aang gasps audibly, clearly about to enquire on that statement when Zuko groans out loud in embarrassment. In one uncoordinated scramble Katara cups the side of his face with her free hand, and Aang squeezes Zuko's hand next to him.

Katara leans down and kisses him until he calms. Right.

They aren't making fun of him.

Aang squeezes the grip on his hand, waiting his turn, before leaning up to kiss Zuko. This he  _can_ react to, and he kisses back with the fervour that he can't express with the rest of his body, realising only now how fired up he really is.

It's a lot of touch. And maybe he should feel panicked by the fact that his hands are figuratively tied, but there's no room in his mind and body to feel anything else, with the two of them, clogging up his brain, crowding every one of his senses.

Aang sits up again and trails his hands down to Zuko's stomach. Despite the fact that the touch feels the same, Zuko can pinpoint the exact moment his fingers cross the flesh from under Katara's control to his own, just from the reflexive thrust of his hips. Aang quickly undoes the loose waist of his pants, a clumsiness in the movement betraying the excitement that his calm composure hides. Zuko squirms at the touch, lifting up to feel Aang's hands on him. Aang seems intent on evading him, drifting cool air low on his stomach. Zuko lets out a growl of frustration.

"Stop moving," Aang tells him innocuously, a hint of mischief back in his tone. Zuko tries to react, but there's a gentle lilt to his voice that compounds the headiness he already feels, enough to push him over the edge. A desperate moan escapes him rather than the scoff he intended.

He pulls it together and hisses, "What are you  _talking_  about, I can hardly -"

"Can you hold him still for me?"

Zuko gapes.

Aang is looking intently at Katara. Zuko can sense no surprise from her, not even a change in her breathing. Was she already thinking that before he said it? He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to think past the helpless need building in his groin, coursing through his whole body.

And then they're both looking at him. For  _permission._

Zuko nods, his face burning.

Katara shifts against the headboard, her body emanating pure heat. Zuko turns, his face pressed into her thigh so he can muffle the moans Aang draws out of him with his hands; so he can hope to survive what's happening. A kiss low on his stomach draws his eyes back to Aang. His mouth presses against the lowest edge of Zuko's scar; a breath that's too long, too lavish to just be a breath. There's a feverish part of Zuko that's grateful for the restraint on his body, just for the fact that they can't see him quiver. Aang kisses him, again and again, like he's deliberately calling attention to where Zuko can't move.

Zuko groans with the urgency but Aang doesn't go where he wants him, and Zuko is powerless to make him. It's certainly bolder than Zuko expected from him. And it's sure as hell more patience than he could give Katara credit for. But he doesn't know, maybe they have practice. Another thought that sends his blood rushing.

 _Finally_ , Aang pulls down the fabric from his hips in one strong movement. Katara lowers her hand an inch; a feeling so acute that it might as well have been much more. He thinks he hears them both draw a breath at the sight of him exposed before Aang wraps a hand around him. Like a tag team hell-bent on destroying him, they linger low near his hip bones, the taut skin of his stomach racking with his harsh breaths; the only thing Katara allows him. It's a caress, a careful one; Katara under his skin and Aang above it. Zuko wants to shift, squirm, lift his hips forward to get more but it's obvious from their actions that the only avenue for protest he's given is the rough moans he can't keep from escaping his mouth.

Aang must take pity on him, because he holds Zuko by the hips and replaces his hands with his mouth, kneeling by Zuko's legs. Zuko groans loud enough for Katara to press her hand against his mouth, before kissing him, taking the agitation from him. She lifts her head to watch Aang, and Zuko can plainly see the hunger in her expression even from the way her hair obstructs his view. He wants to touch her, or him; he doesn't know but it doesn't matter regardless. He can't move or think or speak, can only take the relentless attention, the wet warmth of Aang's mouth around him and Katara everywhere inside him.

Maybe she's boiling him alive. It certainly feels like it.

Aang pulls off him, looking at Katara with reddened cheeks and a bashful smile. Zuko huffs in a breath, impatient. No matter how much he tries it comes out aggravated, desperate. "Aang, get on with it."

Aang looks at him pointedly, with a smile that makes him feel lightheaded. "What?"

Zuko tries not to whimper. "I swear if you want me to  _tell_  you what, I'll kick you out of-"

Katara kisses him, her breaths harsh on his face. "Tell him," she says, her voice thick with desire.

Zuko squeezes his eyes shut, shaking the frustration out of his head. Katara strokes the skin of his cheeks, presses kisses into his jaw, his arched neck, coaxing for the answer.

"Just do- just put your mouth back on me," he mumbles.

Aang is back on him in the same instant. If Zuko thought he didn't have control before - well. Katara grabs his hair, harder than she probably intends, rewarding him for every shamefully loud moan, spurring him on with bold kisses against his neck, his earlobe. Goosebumps spring up on his immobile arms.

"You look beautiful," she says, her voice earnest, shaking with arousal, "you're so beautiful." Aang concurs silently with only a bob of his head, squeezing Zuko's hand, eyes flitting up to catch Zuko's for only a moment before he turns his attention back with remarkable focus. Funny how he can do that when he really wants to.

Katara tips his chin up into a messy kiss. Her hands really tremble now, and her control falters with it, because Zuko finds he can lift his arms. He reaches for Aang's head instantaneously, jerks his hips until he can feel the sensation build fast - but in a matter of seconds Katara regains her composure. She catches and pins him with startling precision. It's the clean, unthinking power in that action -  _moving_  him rather than keeping him still - that sends him over the edge, leaving him helpless to Aang.

He feels mad, strange, like he might burst; an inferno that could engulf anything, only Katara containing him and only Aang channelling him away.

She splays one leg across Zuko's chest, leaving him closer to her warmth. Zuko desperately peppers hot kisses into the trembling flesh of her thighs even as he's hindered by the long, hoarse breaths he has to take. She ends up half-caressing Aang's head with her ankle. For one manic moment, Zuko feels grateful for her for doing what he isn't able to do, forgetting that she's created this predicament in the first place.

Aang pulls off him with agonising slowness, his breathing so uncharacteristically erratic that Zuko feels a smidge of pride. He wipes his mouth on his arm with a hurried lopsided smile, managing only the hint of a kiss on Zuko's lips when Katara yanks him by the neck. She kisses him hard, and he kisses back with equal boldness. Zuko's brain alights with the feeble energy he has left; watching the two of them tasting him and each other eagerly.

Katara releases her hold but doesn't let him go, her hand curled around his face to kiss him again. Zuko pulls Aang down into his arms once the shock wears off. His limbs too light and clumsy, making the movement rougher than he intended, but Aang falls with grace. Katara snakes her way under his arm on his other side. The air is sticky as they catch their breath.

"I think that went quite well," Katara says, looking up with a smile and her eyes wide for a response. Zuko just kisses her so he doesn't have to answer that. She hooks an arm and a leg around him, her hand resting flat on his chest. The touch feels so superficial, and shame bubbles in his chest at that realisation, at the intrusion he let her conduct.

"Yeah," Aang says slowly, stroking the hand on Zuko's chest with his own. "A little unexpected, but very interesting." He smirks up at Zuko. Zuko shakes his head with a half-hearted roll of his eyes. He wraps his arm around Aang, trying to convey every affection that he couldn't earlier. Aang settles into him. The unmistakable hardness pressed against Zuko's thigh makes him feel a little winded. Just from that?

Katara's voice is silvery. " _Unexpected?_ "

"Shut up," Zuko says instantly.

She giggles, nuzzling into him. Her body is conspicuously hot, cloying; trapped between them, something pleasant stirs in Zuko, even though he feels completely spent.

But neither of them make a move. Katara stays pressed into him, lightly caressing him, and Aang shifts to kiss him, intermittently, softly; deftly drawing the residual shame from him like that's some Avatar power itself. Zuko lies placid and full between them, not daring to disturb the peace until he has a good hold on himself. They'll  _both_  get what's coming soon.

 


End file.
